2024: Out with the Old and In with the New

2024: Out with the Old, In with the New

·      It’s been 32 years since I’ve gone on a date, but now that Cletus Bo has passed, I reckon I oughta make some resolutions, like, for instance, go on a date.

·      I have asthma, a bad case of nerves, and an extra thumb on my left hand. How long am I supposed to go on like this?

·      So first, I resolve to have my extra thumb surgically removed although the thought of such a bloody deed makes me nervous. What if my extra thumb is where the secret to my womanhood lives? What if I grow a beard and a deep affection for Rambo the minute it’s removed?

·      Cletus Bo (CB for short) always hated my extra thumb. Used to call me “Double Stumps.” He’d make me wrap it in a green bandana before we made love. 

·      I resolve to conquer my asthma once and for all by adopting 10 cats, eating peanuts daily, and cultivating a ragweed garden in my kitchen. Constant exposure will serve as tough love for my lungs who are, no doubt, weak little crybabies.

·      I make a resolution to calm my nerves with a similar tough love approach. Each day of the new year I will wake by watching “World’s Deadliest Weather” while eating a well-toasted bagel smeared with peanut butter. At night, I’ll run through town shouting “Who wants to fight me, you bunch of sissies?”  I will do this naked.

·      CB’s favorite pastime was to show me “tough love.” It started the day after we married. Our dog never did like him.

·      I resolve to get right with Jesus.  He could come back any day, and if He does, no doubt He will toss me into the Lake of Fire along with all the atheists and Republicans.

·      I need to resolve to go back to Jazzercize, but we all know that ain’t gonna happen.

·      I’ve always been a Yellow Dog Democrat just like my Daddy was, and his Daddy before him and so on. Daddy says our family heritage goes all the way back to the Boston Tea Party, but I refuse to believe it. How could I have come from Yankee blood? Gross.

·      Mama adhered to no particular party except her own birthday party which had to be big fancy like one Lady Di might’ve had. My sisters and I all wore sequins and Daddy put on his best (and only) Stetson to raise a toast of Andre Brut to the Lord and to Mama’s folks for placing her on this sweet earth. Needless to say, CB never attended these festivities because he was usually drunk by noon.

·      Actually, I might resolve to go to back to Jazzercize. How am I gonna find a man with all this cellulite, plus a jagged scar where thumb #2 used to be?

·      If I ever have children, I resolve to prevent them from marrying right outta high school. The guy they called “Chicken Choker” seemed so sexy at the time, but he soon grew into a real toad turd husband. 

·      I resolve to stop eating Delta-8 gummies like breath mints.

·      And I resolve to eat more breath mints because once CB lost his job, we lost our dental insurance. I’ve learned to smile with my mouth closed though sometimes it makes me look constipated.

·      I firmly resolve to dye my hair blonde. Finally. CB always preferred brunettes like Suzanne Pleshette and the gal who played Uhura on Star Trek, so I colored my hair for the 27 years of our marriage, but I was born tow-headed. I will return to tow-headedness, and I will find a new man in my towheaded glory.

·      Mr. New Man will marvel at my golden locks, and he will call me “Sister Golden Hair Surprise.”

·      I resolve that Mr. New Man will not have two names like Cletus Bo. One name will do him just fine. I prefer Garth, Hank, Dwight, or Elvis.  

·      If he’s got a double-barreled first name, then I resolve right now to call him by only one of his names. I’m talkin’ to you, Lin-Manuel Miranda. Not that we’d ever date. I don’t like songs about history, but I’ve heard you’re a talented dude, so I’d just call you Lin.  Like Loretta Lynn, but a boy.

·      I absolutely do not resolve to feel guilty about CB.

·      I resolve to venture out where I can meet potential husbands—maybe a ballroom dancing class, a wine tasting, or a tractor pull.

·      Our local Piggly Wiggly features a wine tasting every Friday evening. Needless to say, CB would never accompany me because he thought wine was for boys who were a little light in the loafers. CB could never be called sophisticated or cosmopolitan.

·      I resolve to find a man within the next two weeks.  This will require a massive overhaul. Note to self:  dye hair, shave the mustache, find me some purple Lee press-on nails, get my sweat on, scratch off any moles, hydrate, make an egg-yolk face mask, and read Co-Dependent No More to give me that inner glow.

·      I resolve that my first date with Mr. New Man will be dinner and a romantic movie, of course. He will be a gentleman. He won’t take me to a monster truck rally unlike some men I know. Well, used to know.

·      My second date with Mr. New Man will be a wine tasting at the Pig. He will gently hold my elbow as he escorts me down the shampoo and ladies hygiene aisle until we get to our desired location right next to Tammi Sprayberry, who guzzles the good stuff every Friday night along with her boyfriend, Tater Tot, who happens to be 19 years younger than her and runs an illegal cock-fighting venue on the other side of town.  Who’s the winner now, Tammi?

·      I’ll go ahead and resolve to clean my pink .38 Special. Usually CB takes care of that kinda thing, but with his blood all over it, I figure he won’t be available for this particular chore.

·      Oh how I will love Mr. New Man, and how he will love me! I resolve to write him a love poem every morning right before toughening up my nerves with “World’s Deadliest Weather.”  (Once a deadly tornado hit our house, but we were safe in our tornado shelter. Never mind that the shelter was crawling with a million Daddy Long Legs. I resolve to face tornadoes head-on in the future before I climb down into a den of spiders again).

·      I resolve that my love poems will be new and exciting. I’ll find a word that rhymes with “orange” if it harelips the Pope.

·      I resolve to forget the look on poor CB’s face when he met his fate. His eyes popped out as big as flour sacks, and I couldn’t help but laugh just a little when he let out the tiniest sound, kind of like “eek,” as the bullet ripped through his nether parts. Anyone who saw him would agree it was funny as all get out, but I resolve to try to remember him with dignity, though Lord knows he had less dignity than a trout has feet. 

·      I realize now that I could’ve found a way to make less of a mess. Our kitchen is beyond ruined. But as they say, you always see 20-20 when you’re lookin’ out your ass. 

·      I resolve to read an important book like War and Peace, although I resolve that each and every year and never do.  Where would I even find War and Peace around here?  Maybe I’ll start with something more available like The Thorn Birds. A hot Australian priest and his lady fair might be just what I need to cleanse my soul. 

·      How does that famous line go?  Something about a bird with a thorn stuck in its gut who will soon die while it’s singing “while we folks, when we poke our own selves with a thorn, learn something. We know a thing or two, but we poke ourselves anyway….”

·      I resolve not to poke myself anymore.  I’ll be the one doing the poking around here.